Colony 7: Plains
by DarkBeta
Summary: Pioneers . . . again.
1. It Will Happen on a Holiday

**Colony: Plains 1, by DarkBeta**

_(I have no rights to the Magnificent Seven. Nevertheless i'm taking them out to play . . . a long, long way from home. This first chapter is a boring list of names and relations. If you can slog thru it, i think the next one will be better. [kowtows abjectly])_

**[Four Corners, Arizona Territory, July 4th 1869]**

That year Mary Travis got everyone convinced that Four Corners needed to prove its settled, civilized status with a Fourth of July picnic. Judge Travis, her father-in-law, agreed to some speechifying. J.D. rode off to invite Casey to it right away. Buck thought that a picnic lunch, a blanket, and a cozy spot in the bushes offered real possibilities.

Nathan headed for the Seminole village. Josiah expressed his opinion in so long-winded a parable that no-one was quite sure where he stood. Vin allowed as it might be worth the fuss. Pie-tasting had been mentioned, and Chris accused Mary of undue influence.

He should have kept his mouth shut, but he couldn't bear with Billy's excitement. The boy insisted on recounting every last detail of the planned events, from the pie auction to the greased pig race. Chris spent a lot of time in the saddle, keeping an eye on the paths and ranchlands nearby, just to avoid him.

Couldn't get out of going to the damn thing though. Aside from hired guards at the bank and a couple dead gunhands waiting for coffins, Four Corners was a ghost town today.

The Standish Tavern was padlocked. The manager, Inez Recillos, had spent the evening with her cook, making more tamales than one town could eat. Anyone wanting a horse from Yosemite's livery stables was out of luck. Those that hadn't been hired to get people out here, were walking in circles for children who paid a penny a ride.

The storekeeper had a stall selling candies, ribbon rosettes and flags. Mrs. Potter was doing a good business, but she might not show a profit. Her two children kept running back to cadge pennies from her.

Mary got Yosemite to haul her handpress out to the pasture. She'd set it up in a mildewed canvas tent, and was running off souvenir posters for about the same price as the pony rides. She'd gotten creative with the typeface, but sales were running a distinct second to the ponies. Working the press was hard, dirty work. He managed not to tell her she looked good glowing.

If Chris had been a gentleman still, he'd have taken the job over. Gentlemen were thin on the ground in Four Corners. He found himself a spot in the shade instead, under one of the big cottonwoods not yet felled for lumber. He had the trunk at his back. The leaves hung down so he didn't worry about anyone drawing a bead on him at a distance. He pulled his hat down over his face. He could have relaxed, if it weren't for the damn people.

"I want that cheating gambler run out of town, or me and the boys are going to string him up."

"Never seen Ezra hold a gun on a man to keep him in the game. I favor lead over hemp, myself. You and your boys might want to head out yourselves."

Chris watched until he saw the rancher and his men ride off. Just as well. Wasn't any man's place to rid the world of fools. Though he wouldn't mind trying . . . .

"Mr. Wilmington has three of them hanging on him. Three! It isn't right for women like that to be walking around with decent families. And children!"

"Buck's happy enough to make it four, if you need an escort."

Mary was never incoherent with rage, unfortunately, but she reached an incandescence that needed print for an outlet and stalked away scribbling. He expected another editorial on the town's "bad element".

Time was, his name as a gunfighter kept a quiet shroud between him and the world.

"That slick Southerner has a cart full of crates all marked up with heathen writing, and he's thick as thieves with the Chinaman that drove it. I smelled gunpowder!"

"How'd you recognize it? You're never around when there's shooting."

"You . . . you . . . ! I'm an important man!"

"Guess I could send Standish back to town, him and his gunpowder. Wonder how much he'd need to blow the vaults at your bank?"

He could have mentioned the lack of witnessses and the paucity of guards back at Four Corners, but he didn't need to. Horror lengthened the fussy banker's face, and he ran for his horse.

"Did you ever see such a bee-oo-tiful boo-kay? This here is Fleur, and this is Blossom, and this is Rose Camellia!"

"Might be trouble. Stay out of the bushes. Seeing you jump up in nothing but your long johns and your gunbelt, it's embarassing."

"Old dog, I got nothing to be embarassed by!"

One of the girls tittered, and one of them giggled, and one of them stared at Chris and licked her lips. He pulled his hat down over his face.

"Indians! Walking around in broad daylight! We'll be massacred!"

A nervous woman didn't last long out here. Mrs. Kleine would find her grit, or she'd take the stage on to San Francisco, or there'd be a burial no-one but Josiah attended.

Rain had come back from the Seminole village with Nathan. She'd brought a couple pony-loads of children along, and one obvious rival for Nathan's affections. Chris didn't expect anyone but Nathan was in danger.

"Better head back to town, then."

"Oh, do you think . . . ? But maybe I'd better . . . ? Alone?"

Her voice drifted away into distant mooing.

"Lookit, lookit! Mama says I'm greasy as a nen-ji-neer. I 'most caught the greased pig. Well, I coulda! Whatsa nen-ji-neer? Some kind of Injun?"

Chris wasn't going to open his eyes. Wasn't going to see the excitement on Billy Travis' face. Rescue came with a plod like a giant's.

"Son, I do believe your mother was calling you. Be a tragedy if she fretted and worried until you both had to go back to town before the day ended."

"Yikes! Bye, Chris. Bye, Mr. Josiah."

Of course, rescue couldn't keep his mouth from flapping.

"A man seeks solitude, but solitude doesn't seek him. Seems like the Good Lord makes our lives a conundrum. I expect that's a lesson, if we see it rightly."

"Josiah . . . go away."

The big man chuckled, but he left. Wasn't long before other steps raced over to the tree, though.

"Casey wants to go walking in the scrub, but her Aunt Nettie brought her carbine along. But Buck just keeps telling me where to put my hands . . . . I don't want to get married already!"

"Tell her you can't go walking out with a girl when the sheriff is supposed to be on duty, J.D. And go deputize Ezra for something before he gets himself killed."

The silence nearby was eloquent. Chris sighed.

"I don't see you out walking around. Go eat pie."

Wind shivered the cottonwood's leaves. There wasn't any point wondering if a bounty hunter might be around in the crowd. Or just some gun-slinger with a Wanted poster in his pocket.

"Hell with it. I'm asleep, and I'm not waking up for anything but the Second Coming."

"Got your back."

The chill woke Chris, as shadow slipped across him. He opened his eyes to an impossible sky, a disc like the moon come down to earth.

"If it ain't the Second Coming, I sure don't know what it is!"

Vin was at his side as Chris stood up, shoulder to shoulder. The sharpshooter had his rifle aimed but the end of the barrel wavered very slightly, and Chris could smell a bitter whiff of fear. Shots stuttered, but just a few, and then they heard nothing.

Chris got his own gun out and aimed, but when he pulled the trigger nothing happened. He returned it to the holster, his jaw working, and then he had no breath. And then there was no darkness, only his rage floating in inimical light.

When Four Corners lost most of its people overnight, blame fell on either the Indians or some kind of freakish tornado. Had the Seminole settlement been easier to find, there might have been a greater tragedy. Instead the town lost heart. Inside six months empty frame buildings had began to shatter back to prairie.


	2. Waking Up Blind

Colony 7: Plains 2, by DarkBeta

**(Prairie, Morning of the First Day)**

The shadow of black wings woke him. Josiah sat up as he shouted. He had to endure only a brief sight of the gouging beak and the profiteer's eye, as the crow took off with a raucous protest. No man who'd walked a battlefield on the day after battle could be tolerant of corpse birds. They gave him now the inward shiver others might feel at snakes.

He remembered Mary Travis's celebration of liberty and community, which surely ought to be celebrated in a world that so often withheld either. He thought he remembered wonders in the sky, some cloud or comet or daylight firework. Beyond that he could not judge the alteration of place or time.

His hands were the same, yellowed with adobe mud, the callouses from hewn roof beams neither healed not deepened, the right still faintly speckled with shot powder, on the backs the river-map of veins not altered by any flood or summer. His clothes were the same, laundered of what stains he could but still the very record of time and labor and thrift. The handprint Billy left on his shirt, from some syrupy and improbably colored treat, was still sticky. Neither could Josiah find any inspiration in himself, no sudden wisdom come like a thundershock, nor any vacuity where knowledge might have been that was lost.

To wake in a place and state unexpected was not strange. Should there be a catalog of methods for achieving unconsciousness, from sleep to suffocation, fever to exhaustion, cheap gin to peyote, he'd probably endured much of it.

What was strange, was to feel well. He had no aches or trembling of fever, no regrets of drink, no wond or soreness or injury. In truth he felt better than a man of his years and experience could expect from the most peaceful of morning, still less from whatever circumstance shanghaied him to a wilderness of grass.

The stalks towered over him, such that the hills or horizon were hidden even when he stood. The shafts were pale and the leaf-ends rosy with new growth. The few unripe seedheads were silver. All the rest was a circumscribed sky above, wind resounding like an ocean, and birdsong like a limitless chorus.

The wilderness was trackless. He could not see a way for him to have come where he was, neither by his own power nor another's. The stems where he'd lain were crushed, or he might have supposed himself caught in a fairytale sleep while the grass grew up about him.

After due consideration Josiah knelt and prayed.

"Lord, here we see as through a glass darkly and mysterious are Your ways, while for You my doubts and questions are as plain as the inward sin a man blinds his own self to. You know what I have not asked, as You know the answers to all questions, You who are the only answer."

His voice rose, as if he tried to make himself clear to a distant heaven.

"What the . . ." (he took a breath, and elided a phrase) ". . . Devil is going on?"

"Preacher, is that you? It's me, Yosemite."

Josiah was so bemused at how a second voice could alter Hell (an old lesson, but always relearned) that for a moment he forgot to answer.

oooooooo

Waking in a cozy bower, with three of the prettiest girls he ever saw (the ones he saw most recently being obviously superior to those of an hour or a day or year ago) disposed sleepily about him, Buck could perhaps be forgiven for doing what came naturally for him and them.

oooooooo

The canebrake was thick enough to make Nathan claustrophobic. Blue sky hung overhead, like the mouth of a well to one hiding there. The air had an unfamiliar crispness, traces of a cool night trapped in the shadows.

He couldn't find a path away. He could not remember why he was hidden there. It made him reluctant to call out. There might have been a reason.

He wasn't usually an indecisive man, but Nathan stayed where he found himself for a long time.

oooooooo

It was the groan of a wagon's brake that woke Ezra. Later he knew his luck, that the brake had been set at all, and brought himself out in a cold sweat considering if it hadn't.

He lay with his head just before a wagon wheel, with the wagonbed above him a pleasant shade against the day. The two oxen had champed some time at the grass in front of them, clearing almost all within range of either of them. Reaching for more they strained against their harness.

He had his eyes open, though he hadn't roused even to a due bewilderment. Idly he wondered why the grasses under the wagon broke only where they brushed the wagonbed, as if it had been set like an eggshell onto them, when he heard the crack of the brake giving way.

Too quick for thought he jerked away from the wheel. Someone squealed; he hoped it wasn't himself. The wagon rolled forward a yard or so, crushing ruts exactly that long in the earth, and the oxen cropped contentedly again.

Ezra allowed himself the brief release of strong language. Near the rear of the cart Chasseur whickered agreement.

"No understand. What place? What do?"

He'd forgotten the Chinese driver. Flushing slightly he got to his feet, and tried to brush the worst of the dirt and leaves from his green jacket. Red would have been too nearly a celebration of the re-united states, and blue of course was unthinkable.

"Have you no control over these rampaging beasts? I could have been killed!"

The ox-cart had brought his shipment from the nearest train station to Four Corners. As transport went it was excruciatingly slow. The cart had arrived only that morning. He'd been forced to order the driver onward to the festival grounds, with no chance to examine the goods in privacy. He'd hoped to sort matters out sometime before evening in a secluded corner.

Which he had been about to do, he thought, in a swale not too far from the careering hordes. That much was clear enough in his memory to be relied upon. The interim between that discussion and the present, on the other hand, was a blank.

"Mr. Standish? Ezra?"

Most Chinamen were reasonably clean, in contrast to equivalent laborers of other extraction. This one was unusually stained and odorous. Axle grease smudged the alien face, and Ezra sincerely hoped the material caked on that shirt was only dry mud. Perhaps opium was to blame for the driver's belated arrival, as well as his general incompetence. Perhaps, in fact, this entire debacle could somehow be attributed to the Celestial.

"I expected delivery three days ago! My letter emphasized the seasonal nature of this order . . . ."

Chasseur ambled over, holding his head askew so as not to step on the trailing reins. Like the oxen he'd refreshed himself on the verdant surroundings. In an emotional greeting he rubbed his muzzle on Ezra's chest, smearing green slobber down the green coat. Perhaps noting a suitable dessert to the banquet, he pulled the straw hat from the driver's head and began to chew.

Though she looked worn near to tears or collapse, Li Peng giggled.


	3. Intimations

**Colony 7: Plains 3****, by DarkBeta**

**(Prairie, Afternoon and Evening of the First Day)**

Chris dreamt of how it had been for her, blackness and burning and hot stale air, but when he opened his eyes it was a lie. Sunlight dazzled in around the brim of the hat across his face. Grass rustled and a meadowlark chimed.

He didn't feel as bad as he should have, for as drunk as he must have been. He couldn't even remember drinking, much. He remembered the Fourth. Since he didn't hear speechifying or children shrieking or the whoop of crowds at a race or contest, the damn thing must be over.

So he got drunk and slept through it. Least he'd passed out someplace that didn't stink.

High sun and dark clothes didn't make for comfort. He needed shade, and maybe breakfast (since the throught didn't turn his stomach), and then another drink. He pushed the hat up on his head as he got up.

Where were the cottonwoods? The dry brown pasture? The July sky, implacable as enameled steel?

He stood on a mild slope, with new grass up to his hips. It was even taller in the swale below him, that kept the wet longer. Grass shadowed the handful of wagons so they looked like sinking boulders. Horses shouldered together, smooth backs sliding like trout under the surface. They'd started to trample or graze a clearing for themselves.

"They'll founder!"

He still didn't head down the hill. The swale below him was only a small part of a shimmering sea. The print of the wind moved like cloud-shadows across it. It blushed with new growth, and wildflowers surface in dapples of poppy-red, orange or yellow. A spread of water glowed silver at the horizon.

The grass behind him didn't rustle, and he didn't turn around. Vin moved up beside him. The rifle hung laxly from his grip. Chris had seen that cast of expression before. Vin was in love.

"The joyful place of hunting," he breathed.

"Indian heaven? Hah. If this was heaven I'd be somewhere else."

A woman shrieked. The gathered horses wheeled to stare in one direction.

"Missus Travis," Vin said.

"Mary."

They plunged into the tall grass, not stopping to count how many other places the grass shook with sudden movement.

ooooooo

Something like a panther made a low, eager chuff. Mary dropped into awareness like a winter baptism. Her eyes shot open. Light glowed through a canvas wagon cover. That square of black was the chest of pre-cast type, and those two were dinner baskets.

She lay with her head toward the open rear of the wagon. The animal was there. Moving might prompt it to strike.

Some weeks past, a panther had started grabbing chickens or shoats from nearby farmyards. They'd been afraid it would take a child one day. Vin – Mr. Tanner – had gone after it. He'd shot it, but not before it killed the calf staked out as a lure.

The farmer showed her the calf's skull with the meat boiled off. It had cracked like an eggshell, and a fang punched through the bone like a bullet.

The wagonbed shifted. Something thumped to the ground. Grass rustled.

She sat up. The wagon was empty. She scrambled to look out of it.

The animal was a gargoyle, like no cat she'd ever seen. It dragged Billy by his shoulder. He was unconscious. Or dead.

She was on the ground. (She never remembered moving, or deciding what to do.) She had a tray of lead type in her hands, that she couldn't possibly have lifted. It dropped Billy to snarl at her. She brought the tray down on its head.

"Get off! Filthy! Stinking! Thing!"

It lunged at her across Billy's body. She stumbled back. It had teeth like a bear trap.

"That's right, you bastard. Come after me. Leave him alone!"

She was laughing, or sobbing. Somehow the jaws snapped on her skirt instead of her throat. They snagged on a maw-full of petticoats. It shook its head, trying to get loose, and sent her staggering.

"Momma! Momma!"

He was alive. He was! She fell against the back of the wagon. It was the struggling beast that swung her about so she could grab another tray of type. The teeth finally ripped free of her dress. The creature snarled.

The shots were close enough to deafen her. The beast shuddered. Its eye turned into a bloody hole.

Vin put up his rifle. Ezra holstered his waist gun. Chris scowled at her as he holstered his. They swung around at the noise of a stampede. Mr. Sanchez and Yosemite skidded to a stop as soon as they were in view, and Yosemite raised his hands.

"Momma!"

She slid down to the ground. Billy threw himself into her lap. His shoulder was bloody, but both arms hugged her. She couldn't bring herself to worry just yet.

Buck plunged out of the wall of grass. He only had an undershirt on top, and his pants were precariously fastened. As a well-bred woman, Mary looked elsewhere.

"Who screamed? What's going on? Is everyone all right?"

J.D. chugged out of the grass, towing Casey behind him. Nathan slid out from the shadows.

"Animal bite? I'd better get that cleaned up."

"I see you've been throwing lead about, Ma'am." Ezra scolded. "As a peacekeeper here, I must decry such violence."

A dirty Chinaman peered from behind him. Three drabs sashayed out after Buck.

"Buck, sweetie, you left your shirt."

Mary realized she'd left it too late to indulge in a good bout of hysterics. She laughed instead, cutting it off when she felt herself growing shrill, and stood up with Billy in her arms.

"Thank you. Where are we? How did we get here?"

"And why would anyone trouble to shanghai such an ill-assorted crew?" Ezra added.

oooooooo

["People are shooting! Where do we go? What's going on?"]

["Hush, Moyag. Tokala, you take care of him."]

["Why should I take care of him? I'm not a girl!"]

When Tadi woke, until he heard Moyag crying and Tokala shouting at him, he thought he was alone. Then he'd been glad to find them. The younger boys were wearing that emotion thin.

["We need to find the others, Tasunke and the girls. Come on."]

There was a narrow path among the grasses, where something like antelope went toward water. Tadi went uphill instead. With the sun high there should be few predators, but he didn't mean to approach the riverbank until he'd found his elders.

Like the fox he was named for, Tokala was not so bad at moving silently. Moyag was hopeless, and too big for either of them to carry. When he heard the creak of wheels and something great shouldering through the grass, Tadi gestured for both of them to stay still and be silent.

The noise was a wagon drawn by the ghost people's buffalo. Tadi stayed still, until he was certain none of them were still around. Shots, and the ghost people; that was never good news for human beings.

The wagon was piled with boxes. Even that might not have drawn Tadi out of hiding, if it weren't for the tallest, sleekest horse he'd ever seen. It was wandering loose, saddled, with reins tied over its neck so it wouldn't shake them off and stumble on them.

["Come with me. Come with me, beautiful horse. You can't stay here."]

The horse looked at Tadi with his ears forward. Wouldn't Tasunke be surprised, when Tadi came back with such a prize? He reached smoothly for the headstall.

The horse changed as if it was a story being, the flattened ears turning the head snakelike as it lunged. Tadi fell back, too slow, as the great teeth caught and tossed him and hooves sliced just inches from his face.

["Tadi, where are you? What's going on?"]

Couldn't Tokala keep the littler boy silent for even a handful of time? But Tokala was just behind Moyag as they burst out of the grass.

["No, stay back!"]

Tadi tried to sit up. The horse showed its teeth at him, pranced aside, and then feinted at the younger boys. By the time Tadi got to his feet again, the other two were crowded against him.

["It's herding us!"]

["That is not an ordinary horse."] Tokala stated.

["It's a spirit horse! Is it going to eat us?"]

Backed behind Tadi, Moyag sounded like he was going to cry. Was he ever going to grow up?

["Of course not. See, it doesn't have sharp teeth,"]

Tadi wasn't entirely sure of that logic, and Moyag wasn't swayed.

["It's got big teeth. Maybe it'll crunch us."]

["He won't eat you. Will you, Ezra's horse?"]

If there was anything worse than being threatened by a horse that ate people, it was being rescued by a girl. Tasunke would have been bad enough, but Rain was the one who came around the back of the wagon. The horse put its ears forward again.

["He'll attack you too,"] Tadi warned.

["Let them go, Ezra's horse. We'll stay here where you can see us until Ezra comes back, and then he can take us to Nathan."]

Its nostrils flared at her, and then it put its head down and went back to cropping at the new grass. Rain caught the bridle and pulled it into the area around the wagon that was already cropped.

["Maybe no-one's coming back,"] Tadi argued. ["There were shots."]

Rain snorted.

["Only two. That isn't enough for any of the Seven to be hurt."]

["This demon horse belongs to one of the Seven?"]

["Yes."]

Moyag finally stepped out from behind Tadi and Tokala.

["No wonder it eats people, then."]

ooooooo

Hastily closing the vest over his knives, Nathan knelt beside Mary. Chris put up his gun, but he didn't holster it.

"What is that misbegotten beast? Hell's own catamount?"

"Hyena," Josiah said. "It's from Africa."

Ezra blinked at him.

"While aware of your travels, I don't believe I appreciated their full extent."

"I've not been there. Just heard my father's missionary friends lecturing. Well, in justice to them, not his friends. He didn't have much time for anything as human as friends."

"Ah. Fellow gleaners in the fields of belief."

"We're in Africa?" J.D. asked. "How'd we get to Africa?"

Behind Buck Blossom, or possibly it was Rose Camellia, gave a little screech.

"Don't be stupid! Of course we're not in Africa!" Buck said hastily, and caught Fleur as she fainted on him.

"Can't be. Cornflowers in the grass." Vin took a breath. "Smells like prairie."

"Shucks! I'd like to see Africa."

"Missus Travis, can I take a look at Billy's arm?"

"Oh, Nathan. Of course," Mary said distractedly.

She didn't loosen her grip on her son. Billy hiccupped, and burst into sudden noisy tears.

"Aw, Billy, don't cry!" J.D. said. "Bet none of the other kids ever got bit by a hyena."

Vin grabbed a foreleg and rolled the body over so its fierce teeth were farther from Mary and the boy. Chris had been afraid his shot would bounce from the ribs, but it looked to have gone on into the lungs. It wouldn't have killed quick enough though. The eye shot was Vin's, the reason Mary still lived.

"Don't think the hide's good for much," Vin grunted. "Preacher, can I get a hand here?"

Josiah and Yosemite both moved to help him drag it off. Already flies were settling around the seep of blood, like beeves at a waterhole. Josiah stopped to wipe the sweat off his face.

"From the stories, I didn't know they got this big. The missionaries said they hunted after dark, in a pack"

Chris looked around, not liking the way the grass screened everything.

"We saw some other wagons from up the hill, and horses. Yosemite, you get the horses together. Mary, you need to go with him, in case some of the women are getting hysterics. Vin . . . ."

Vin saluted silently, and vanished. Chris knew he'd find a vantage where his spyglass and that long rifle might do some good. Didn't mean they were safe, but he put his gun away.

"Bring wagon," the Chinaman said, and dodged back into the grass.

"And just after being told there are ravening beasts about, too," Ezra sighed. "If you gentlemen will excuse me . . . ?"

He didn't actually wait for an assent, which Chris had not intended to give. That wasn't a Chinaman. What was Ezra up to now?

Mary hugged her son again and then, with molasses slowness, gave him to Nathan.


	4. Darkness Falls

**Colony 7, Chapter 4: Darkness Falls****, by DarkBeta**

**Prairie, Night of the First Day**

The Indians had most of the horses rounded up by the time Yosemite caught up to them. Chris doubted they or the horses would have been around still, if they'd know where else to go. They hadn't gotten so far as slicing the harness off the wagon teams. At least they kept the horses from eating themselves to death.

He found himself counting up lists like a quartermaster in delirium. Six wagons -- did Inez's little donkey cart count as a wagon? -- and their teams. No, seven, with Ezra's oxcart. They were lined up like an emigrant train: Peso, hitched against his inclination to Vin's rolling home; the middleweight team hauling Yosemite's anvil and scrap iron; Mrs. Potter's load of trifles, hitched to another pair; the horse and wagon Buck's friends had hired, expection profit after dark.

And the heaviest pair in Yosemite's stable, hitched to a wagonbed sturdy enough for the handpress. Mary refused to leave it behind, no matter how blown the horses would be getting it up to higher ground. She'd hired Billy and the Potter children to scrabble for the scattered type. At least the lead would be handy if they ran low and needed to mold their own bullets.

Josiah grunted, heaving up one side of the press so J.D. could push a balk of wood under it.

"Snatched ten-thousand miles in less time than spilt water dries? With such power, of course His hand is in it!"

Chris was out of patience for philosophical discussion. The sun was low over the horizon. He had no better idea of where they were, or how they'd arrived, than when he woke up.

"We're not in Africa, damn it. Get that press back in the wagon before we're here in the dark!"

"It'll be a Dark Continent then," J.D. sniggered.

"What use would He have for so mixed a gathering?"

Ezra had situated himself at a safe distance from labor. His gesture took in the heathen, the blasphemers and himself -- particularly himself. He raised the same hand against Josiah's next remark.

"Don't mention sparrows, if you please! Unhygienic little nuisances."

"Isn't His hand always in it?" Vin asked in passing.

That stopped Josiah's comments a moment. He kept a thoughtful expression as he and Yosemite levered the press an inch or two farther up the ramp.

Mary said she wouldn't leave her press, even if all the rest of them rode off. She and the Judge had a fine fracas about it. If the Judge couldn't make her see sense, Chris wasn't going to try.

Though he was tempted to haul her over the saddlebow and gallop off, like the fellow in Ezra's poetry book.

'"They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar."

The idea of her reaction, and his tall grey's reaction to her reaction, lightened his mood a moment.

The Seven, all except Vin, had ridden out from town. Judge Travis did too. Add in the five Indian ponies, and the count came too twenty horses, the team of oxen, and one donkey. Nine men; ten with the brave Rain had dragged along. Far too many women to be at risk out here in the middle of nowhere. Far too many children.

With a rasp and a thunk the press slid onto the wagon bed. One of the phlegmatic plow horses raised its head. The wagon creaked. Everyone froze, wondering if the monstrosity would crash through the boards or crack an axle.

Somewhere a blackbird called. The wagon didn't crack apart.

"Missus Travis. Any further objections to leaving now?"

He saw the white lines of temper around her mouth, but she inclined her head royally.

"None, Mr. Larabee."

"Move 'em out!" he shouted.

ooooooo

They circled the wagons where a swell of earth gave them something approaching level ground. Vin had found the site for them. He'd found a creek too, or maybe the Indians had, and he brought back a couple good-sized barrels of water along with dry patties for the fire.

Inez had been selling tamales from her cart, and a cauldron of chili beans. They mostly ate off her bounty. Aside from Buck's fulsome praise, no-one said much.

Once the sun went down, people stopped asking where they were, or how they'd come here. Maybe they were afraid of getting answers. Like Chris himself, they stared out at strange stars and the solid dark of a moonless night.

Firelight picked out a couple of dark-eared coyotes skulking in the grass, some ten yards away. That was too close, when there were children in the camp. He shot the closest. The second one flattened at the noise. In a moment it started to trot on, still in full view. When its companion didn't follow it circled back.

It nudged the body as if to wake it, snapped close to an ear. When it found the black-rimmed hole the bullet left it licked it like a wound. At last it sat back and yipped dolefully, but it never looked at the gunman.

Chris didn't need to turn, to feel Vin's stare. If this was some kind of Indian heaven after all, he knew who brought sin into it.

Vin slid his brass eyeglass shut.

"Saw something. Coal . . . maybe a cigarette. Down by the shore."

"Guess we'd better plan to ride that way, come morning."

Maybe they'd find some answers. Maybe they'd find something better than vermin to shoot.


	5. Reaction

**Colony 7: Prairie, Chapter 5****, by DarkBeta**

_(Yes, Chasseur is an homage to NotTasha's immortal Chaucer -- without a tithe of his character, of course.)_

Night slid off the world like a woman dropping her shift. Batts of fog rolled in the valleys below camp, and the air was wet. It had been hot and dry in the afternoon, falling toward the sea. Higher up the grassland must thin to desert. And beyond that, like a mirage, blue mountains.

Random chirps swelled into chatter. Swallows flicked through the air. Vin raised his hands in respect to the sudden hot sun and to the other directions. He said nothing aloud; he had no right to those chants. (Not to mention how folk would react, who thought him too much Indian already.)

He did not feel, as he sometimes had back home, any presence accepting his salute. In every direction the world was beautiful and wide and empty. If he had spoken, would there be an answer? Should he have taken some step he had not?

He looked down at the camp, the animals penned away from the new grass in the circle of wagons. The oxen chewed their cud side by side, as if still yoked. All the horses were mingled. The Indian ponies had drifted closer to Yosemite's draft team. They'd figured out that, yes, a creature double their height and four times their weight could still be a horse. The donkey trailed behind them.

A man rolled from under the wagon with the press in it. (How could he close his eyes, with that weight hanging over him?) Chris stood up and looked toward Vin, though at this distance he couldn't have seen even Ezra in his brightest waistcoat. He settled his hat on, and began to pace around the wagons, checking like a hound that nothing had crept in the dark into his territory.

Ezra said the world was as round as the sun or moon. Vin looked up from the circle of wagons and the circle of protection Chris walked around them, to the wide enticing circle of the horizon.

He'd never have words for so much beauty. He jammed his own hat tight and jumped from the ledge he'd found, skidding down the slope in a clatter of stones to join the wagon's circle.

ooooooo

Ezra shook out his waistcoat and jacket, and straightened his clothes as well as he could. The result was still deplorable. What else could he expect, when he'd slept in the dirt again? The mattress of his garrett in town was a bountiful featherbed by comparison.

Those who could, had slept in the wagons that brought them. Lacking such, the town's defenders mostly dossed under the wagonbeds, for some inadequate shelter against the morning's dew. Ezra found the choice of shelter most amusing.

Buck's boots stretched out from the inadequate coverage of Miss Rencillos' cart, instead of the more spacious surrey rented by the young ladies of floral soubriquets. J.D. lay under Miz Nettie's wagon like a young knight definding his ladylove. Tanner's lair was unknown, as he'd given the use of his wagon to Rain and the other Indian maidens. The young warriors had built themselves a lean-to, so Mr. Jackson guarded the visitors' rest.

Perhaps lured by hopes of breakfast, Mr. Sanchez slept by the Potter wagon. One hoped his snores hadn't left them sleepless. Only the fear of retribution had kept Ezra from laughter, at the sight of Mr. Larabee turning apparently at random to the low slung wagon where the Judge and Mrs. Travis and Billy wedged themselves uncomfortably around the iron press.

He himself chose to guard his property, and slept under the oxcart. The opportunity to demonstrate a more aesthetic bombardment had passed, for now. He did not doubt the value of his investment though. Especially if, as now seemed possible, it was nearly the whole of his material wealth.

The others were up and about. By virtue of taking a late watch, Ezra had won a reprieve from waking with them. An iron stand held a kettle clear of the dung fire heating it. The noisesome smell was scarcely appetizing, but he doubted there would be better.

Chasseur separated himself from the hobbled herd, and ambled nearer without ever looking Ezra's way. Ezra stared at the horizon, the paper sack in his pocket crackling as he rested a hand on it. He let the horse drift behind him like a ruddy cloud, and had to steady himself against the wagon at a nudge between his shoulders.

"That is no way to behave. Apologize!"

Chasseur whuffed and shook his head.

"I warn you, not one of my precious peppermints can you appropriate until honor is satisfied."

At that the horse stepped back and lowered his head and forequarters with one leg outstretched.

"An elegant bow indeed. I accept your apology," Ezra pronounced, and held out a peppermint on his palm.

Chasseur lipped it up. Ezra tied a rein to his headstall and turned for the currycomb from his bag. Two dark eyes and the end of a gun stared from a bundle of horseblankets. It was an old, heavy weapon. He doubted it would even fire, though he didn't intend to test his chances.

"I see you are as incensed as myself, at being untimely roused from slumber."

The eyes widened. Li Peng looked down at the weapon as if she'd forgotten she held it, and dragged it back into the concealment of the blankets.

"Sorry, sorry."

"Why are you here? I only hoped for the pleasure of your correspondence, not your presence. Did something happen to your family?"

Surely she had not mistaken his compliments for courtship? His letters had been a matter of business. Li Peng was a useful contact, who could direct his request to the proper parties. The price she paid on his behalf was certain to be lower than that charged a white man, and she wouldn't claim a large percentage for her fee.

Her back straightened. She let the blankets slide down around her waist. She had at least washed before she slept, and changed into clothing less foul though no more feminine. She looked at her hands laid flat on the blanket.

"Family is . . . is good. Money start business."

Ezra found the currycomb in his saddlebag. He turned back to Chasseur. The horse stretched his head forward, eyes half shut, and leaned into the strokes.

"We've been abducted, marooned, and abandoned in peril. And you might have avoided it, if you'd just stayed at home!"

"Need place here. With you. Cook, sew, wash . . . warm bed . . . ."

She dropped out of the wagon to the ground. Chasseur snorted and sidled away. Ezra was pulled a few steps back as well. Li Peng crouched with her palms on the ground and her forhead on her hands.

"You are not a slave. You do not beg. Stand up!"

He looped Chasseur's lead around the cartwheel and dragged her up by her shoulders. It was an ungentle way to treat a woman, much against his training. He did not remember being so angry before.

"Li Family Association say, Mr. Li leave family many years. Old man. Need woman."

"And if he should return to his own domicile?"

She answered after a momen. He'd noticed before, that Li Peng understood more than she spoke.

"Other man take."

"Well. You came here in my employee, after all. I daresay the arrangement can be extended. Although your wages may be irregular for the immediate future."

He looked around at the empty hillsides. Chasseur snorted, irked by the interruption of his grooming, and leaned against him. Ezra shifted the horse back. He looked down at his coat. His labor had added a sifting of horsehair to its previous deshabille. He looked back at Li Peng in hopeful surmise.

"You did mention laundry among your employable skills?"

"Ah, yes? Maybe? Small bit? Send to China."

"This," Ezra told Chasseur, "this is why I do not care to trust to luck."

The horse snorted and nodded in what looked like agreement.


End file.
